


Learning to Swim

by millijayne13



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, F/M, Good Draco Malfoy, Healer Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:27:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26358694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millijayne13/pseuds/millijayne13
Summary: They say that time heals, and grief lessens, but three years after losing his wife, Draco Malfoy wonders how long it takes.
Relationships: Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy/Original Female Character(s), Draco Malfoy/Reader, Draco Malfoy/Scorpius Malfoy, Scorpius Malfoy/Reader
Kudos: 85





	Learning to Swim

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this on my tumblr @iliveiloveiwrite and curiosity got the better of me and I wanted to see how it would do on here!
> 
> WARNINGS: heavy talk of grief and loss, mentions of death as well as nightmares, mentions of food
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated! Please comment and leave a kudos if you enjoyed!!

Draco so rarely finds peace nowadays; a consequence of a confidently walking toddler who’s penchant for curiosity has him grabbing at what he can – the paper, the rug, the dog’s tail.

Draco so rarely find peace nowadays, but once a week, on a Saturday, he drops Scorpius off at his parents. His mother and father doting over the blonde-haired boy who looks more like his mother everyday despite the argument from Narcissa – “He has your nose, Draco!”

On the days he drops his son off at the manor, he apparates to the familiar black gates. They squeak whenever he opens them and no matter how many times he visits, he never remembers to bring the oil he promises to fetch.

Now, he doesn’t look at the names as he makes his way towards the familiar row, hands in his pockets, shoes sinking in the wet grass.

Before, he’d drag his feet. Reading every name he could as he struggled to come to terms with his disbelief and grief.

The granite headstone sits prettily above its plot; the marker for Draco to slow his pace to an amble.

She had died a Malfoy but had been buried in the Greengrass plot.

Draco had known of Astoria Greengrass for years; had been schooled with her sister but had known the family personally for years due to similar social circles, and as a result, social functions. Draco spent ball after ball getting to know the younger Greengrass sister much to the chagrin of Pansy Parkinson who still held a candle for Draco since their fling ended in Fifth Year.

He worked up the nerve to ask Astoria to dinner after a particularly hellish function where his father had pushed him to dance with every available girl that looked his way. For the most part, Draco accepted – wanting to keep his father happy and his mother hopeful. But through every dance, through every twirl on the floor, his eyes would wander back to where Astoria sat very intently focused on the napkin design.

On his third circuit of the dancefloor, Draco broke away from his dance partner earning a glare for his disrespect. He apologised with a smile but turned to the brunette sitting alone; he held his hand to her, and she took it with the grace of a well-raised daughter.

They span around the dancefloor; circle after circle after circle. They laughed, and they smiled, and they settled into a happy silence. One Draco felt so comfortable in that by the time they had finished their second dance together, Draco was certain he wanted to marry her.

By the end of the night, Astoria knew she wanted to marry him.

They were married less than six months after that night.

Three months after they were married, Astoria announced her pregnancy. Rumours started; stating that was the real cause for their quick wedding. But their families knew different; their families spent the entirety of the pregnancy wrapped in a cocoon of worry.

Then blood curse on the Greengrass family meant that Astoria would die at a young age, and Draco had prepared himself for that. Though, in private, he researched what he could to see if he could break the blood curse. This meant, however, the pregnancy was watched closely by Narcissa, by Daphne, and by multiple Healers flooed in from St Mungos.

Nine months later, on an unusually warm day in January, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy was born. Immediately, Draco knew that though he had his hair, Scorpius had his mother’s eyes and mouth.

Three hours after the birth of her son; as she held him tightly in her arms, watching him with the love only a mother could know, Astoria Malfoy nee Greengrass took her last breath.

\-----------

The months after her death, Draco barely coped. He woke up in the mornings solely for Scorpius and Scorpius alone. He devoted his time to his son, marking every milestone in his baby scrapbook which on occasion he would take to his wife’s grave and go through it with her. Scorpius never visited the grave; for starters, he was too young, Draco wouldn’t let his son go through that but his son knew that his mother was no longer with them.

But that didn’t stop Scorpius asking for his mother after a nightmare had pulled him from sleep.

Narcissa tried to help; tried everything she could to help with his grief – at one point even suggesting he go see a psychic, but the fear of transference was enough to put Draco off the idea.

He didn’t have the heart to tell his mother that he didn’t need a psychic to tell him Astoria had made it to the other side and that she had found peace.

She haunted him nearly every night.

Flashes of her white night gown in the corner of his eye; glimpses of her beautiful face in the mirror.

His heart would race, and his palms would sweat as the panic set in.

For a long while, he believed himself to be going insane. The sheer grief he felt at the loss of his wife driving him to madness as though he were Heathcliff suffering the loss of his Cathy.

\------

Draco had memorised the inscription on her headstone after visiting for a month straight.

He had memorised the path to her grave by the end of the first week; the soil still needing to settle.

His feet knew where the uneven ground would be, so it was all dodged expertly.

Draco has very little to say to Astoria when he kneels in front of her. He updates her on Scorpius; promises that he will bring him soon, but it was still too early for his son to see his mother.

In fact, most of his time at the grave is spent in silence. His knees soaking wet from the morning dew still covering the grass.

“Draco? Is that you?” A chiming voice asks as Draco’s head remains bent over his wife’s grave. He releases a sigh before looking up to see that it’s you – someone he hasn’t seen in years. The last he saw of you; you were stood defiantly facing the hordes of Death Eaters in courtyard at Hogwarts.

“(Y/N)?” He asks.

You frown, pointing towards the grave where his wife lies in perpetual sleep, “I heard, but I didn’t believe. I’m sorry for your loss, Draco.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, “Why are you here? If you don’t mind me asking.”

You hold the flowers in your hand up in response, “I lost my grandfather less than a year back. I visit every week.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know. He was a great man.” Draco murmurs, shame washing over him from his curt tone.

“Thank you,” You murmur quietly, “It’s still hard.”

Draco wants to offer words of comfort; to tell you that pain eases over time, but he would be lying to your face. The pain doesn’t ease, and the grief doesn’t lessen, it simply moves to one side and becomes bearable until something reminds you of the one you’ve lost whether it be a sound or a smell and then the pain washes over you like a tidal wave and you start to wonder whether you’ll come up for air or simply drown.

Draco decides not to say anything; turning back to face the woman he had pledged his life too.

You walk away after a slow nod; you wouldn’t get anything more out of him now.

\-----

They say that time heals, that grief lessens, but it doesn’t.

Draco loves his son; he adores his son, but he cannot help but see him as a reminder of what he lost on the day of his birth.

He had gained a son; an heir to carry on the Malfoy name but he had lost the love of his life.

Draco leaves the graveyard soon after his encounter with you; feeling surly with how he had spoken to you.

He searches you before he leaves, but he finds you knelt at the grave of your grandfather with your head bent as the silent sobs rack your body.

He leaves you to your privacy; understanding that right now, intrusion is the last thing needed.

\------------

Draco sits in the living room of his marital home that night; a tumbler of whisky in his hand as he leans back in the chesterfield armchair gifted to him by his parents as part of their wedding present.

The wedding present being the house.

There are reminders of Astoria all over the house; from the pattern of the curtains to her photos lining the walls. She was everywhere. How was he was supposed to start living his life when his house remained a mausoleum?

He feels the hand on his shoulder; he doesn’t need to turn to see who it is.

“You need to stop doing this, Draco,” She murmurs.

He sighs through his nose, “I don’t see why.”

“You’re hurting everyone around you; you didn’t use to be like this.”

“It’s been a trying time, love.”

“I know it has. For both you and Scorpius, but it’s been three years, darling.”

The air in the room has become cold; too cold. To the point where his breath has started to fog; he takes a sip of the amber liquid to warm his body through.

“I can’t forget you, I won’t. He has no memories of you; he needs me to remember you.”

The voice behind him shakes, “My love, you’ll never forget me. I live on in him.”

Draco doesn’t say anything; the lump in his throat making it impossible for him to speak. The absolute yearning with him has him reaching up to take the hand settled on his shoulder.

The tears start to fall when his hand falls through the ghostly spectre.

\-----

Morning comes and Draco wakes in the same chair he had fallen asleep in. He scratches at the stubble lining his face as he stretches his legs, bones popping as he stands to full height.

The clock on the mantle chimes seven times and Draco supposes he should start the day and collect his son from the Manor. He hadn’t been in any state last night to have him at home; it was better for Scorpius to stay with his grandparents.

The light to the bathroom flickers as Draco drags himself into the shower; the hot water and lavender shower gel doing a good job at leeching the tension that had become set into his shoulders.

He wipes the steam from the mirror before lathering his face with shaving cream and beginning the soothing action of shaving. Narcissa preferred him clean shaven anyway; believed that the stubble made him look like a vagrant.

A flash of white in the corner of his eye has Draco freezing with the razor halfway to his cheek.

His hand begins to shake, and he places the razor back in the sink as he braces himself on the counter. He counts to ten before he dares to look back up at himself in the mirror.

He was being haunted.

\------

In the years after the Second Wizarding War, Narcissa had taken it upon herself to entirely renovate Malfoy Manor from the dark, dank place it was to make it more of a home for her family. A home in which Draco should have been raised in.

Narcissa greets him at the door with a kiss on the cheek and a concerned look that only a mother could pull off.

“Good Morning Mother, how are we today?”

“I’d be a lot better if you looked better. Did you get any sleep?”

Draco nods, thinking to the few hours in the armchair, “I got some.”

“Not enough by the looks of it, but at least you shaved. Have you eaten yet?”

He shakes his head, “I came straight here.”

“Luckily for you, Scorp is still eating.”

Draco hangs his coat on the grand railing by the door before following his mother through his childhood home.

His son beams at the sight of his father walking through the door, “Dad!” he yells, dropping his piece of fruit and jumping off his chair. He runs to Draco, wrapping his arms around his legs.

Draco chuckles, picking his son up, settling him on his waist, “Hey there squirt, did you have a nice night with granny and grandpa?”

Scorpius nods, still chewing his last piece of breakfast, “Yeah, me and granny baked, and she let me eat the mix!”

Narcissa lets out an overdramatic gasp, “That was our secret, Scorp!”

Scorpius laughs at his granny’s reaction, “I had to tell Dad!”

Draco tickles his son’s stomach; grinning at the laughter leaving his son’s mouth.

He had never known a world with his mother; and he never would, yet here he was as happy as any three year old could be.

“Are you joining us, Draco?” His father’s voice sounds; breaking Draco from his melancholy.

Draco clears his throat, letting Scorpius down so he can sit next to Narcissa at the table, “Yes, I think I will.”

Anything to not go back to the house so soon; anything to avoid seeing her in the corner of his eye or in the mirrors.

Narcissa nails him with a look she has made entirely her own after dealing with a supremacist order for over a decade.

Draco wavers under his mother’s stare; ready to drop the pretence and cry in her arms.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he grabs the bowl of strawberries and scoops a spoonful onto his plate before reaching for a waffle and grabbing his knife and fork.

“Lucius, darling, why don’t you show Scorpius your matchbox collection? I know he’d love them.”

“What are matched boxes?” Scorpius asks.

Narcissa laughs lightly at her grandson’s pronunciation, “Match boxes, sweetheart.”

Lucius stands from the table; knowing very well what the determined look in his wife’s eyes meant, “Come on, my boy. I’ll show you my collection; I want to see if you can count how many there are.”

Scorpius’ eyes light up at the chance to make his grandfather proud; he jumps down from the chair before reaching to grab Lucius’ hand. Together, they leave the dining room, Lucius prattling about the history of the match box and why they needed to be collected.

Narcissa waits until they’re out of earshot before turning on her son who on the outside, almost pulled off looking so put together. Inside, she knew, was a broken man desperate to find a way to lessen the pain.

“It’s been three years, darling.”

“I know,” Draco answers; resisting the urge to groan.

“How often are you visiting her?”

“Once a week now.”

There was a point in the first months after her death where Draco would visit the graveyard every day for hours. He didn’t even say anything; he just sat on the perfectly trimmed grass in front of her grave and sobbed for the life that had been lost and the future that had been robbed.

Narcissa nods, “That’s good, Draco.”

Draco nods; he had gotten better in the years since her passing but Narcissa would never understand what it feels like to lose a spouse a year into a marriage that should have lasted an eternity.

Narcissa sighs, “Do you think it’s time now?”

“Time for what?” He asks; voice hard.

“To think about finding somebody else? I’m not saying you need to do it right now, Draco, but it’s something to think about.”

Draco sees red, but he tries to keep a lid on his temper for the simple fact that it is his mother sitting in front of him, “I lost my wife, mother. She died giving birth to my son; your grandson. She died and now Scorpius doesn’t have a mother and I don’t have my wife standing beside me. I think I’ll take all the time I need to recover from this.”

Narcissa sighs, “Of course, Draco. You know I didn’t mean it as an insult.”

Draco rubs at his eyes; feeling wretched for the way he had spoken to his mother. She barely left his side after Astoria’s death; she had been the one to pull him away from her body.

“I’m sorry, mother. It was a tough night.”

“You’re having a lot of those, I’ve noticed.”

Draco’s lip begins to wobble, and he thanks Merlin that Scorpius is out of the room, so he didn’t have to watch his father fall to pieces.

Narcissa folds her son into her arms with the care only a mother could show. She strokes his hair as he sobs against her.

“I didn’t think it would be this hard,” Draco sobs.

“Neither did we, my love.”

\-----

Draco feels better after talking to his mother. Lucius returned fairly quickly after Draco had dried his eyes; Scorpius following on his tail, chattering about what he planned to do when he returned home.

Draco opens his arms for his son who happily falls into them; preferring to be carried rather than walking unless he was running around the gardens or the park.

“Do you have everything you need?” Draco asks his son.

Scorpius nods as Lucius holds up the small overnight bag that holds his clothes, pyjamas and his priceless teddy, Wellesley. It was the first thing Astoria brought when she found out she was pregnant. Scorpius treasured it like nothing else.

Draco takes the bag from his father; well aware of the extra treats hidden there. Scorpius had Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy wrapped around his little finger.

After they apparate home, Lucius and Narcissa watch the spot in which their son and grandson disappeared. Hands clutching the other; both worried sick over their only son.

\-----

He fills his week with his son; adventures, hide-and-seek, visits to the library. Draco makes sure Scorpius fills his day with activities designed to educate but to also have fun.

It’s also a way for Draco to keep his mind drifting to the one person who no matter how he often prays and wishes, will always remain absent.

The park is one of Scorpius’ favourite places to visit. He has a personal aim to swing as high as he can without giving his father a heart attack.

They spend their hours doing all sorts together, and every night before bed, Draco tucks Scorpius in tightly. Dropping a kiss to his son’s head and then his teddy’s head, Draco wishes Scorpius the sweetest of dreams.

On a night, Draco lets the memories of his short marriage consume him. He doesn’t wear his wedding ring on his finger anymore, but rather, attached to a chain he wears around his neck. He twists this chain for hours on a night thinking of the mother that Astoria never got the chance to be.

\------

Draco’s visit to the graveyard is shorter this week on account of what happened last time. He knew what happened in the living room was down to the fact that he had spent too much time at her grave, lamenting how much he missed her.

It was expected that she would answer his calls.

So he resolves to make this visit shorter; long enough to clean the area and replace the flowers but short enough to not tempt fate and spectres.

Draco recounts to her tales of Scorpius’ week. Draco laughs and beams like a proud father when he tells the story of Scorpius adopting the family of Nifflers from their copse at the bottom of the garden. He had been so proud of himself; walking all the way back to the house with a four Nifflers in tow who had deemed Scorpius as one their own.

“You’d have thought he was a Scamander,” Draco laughs, patting the loose grass from his suit pants. “I think he could very well excel at Care of Magical Creatures but it’s too soon to tell, my dear.”

Eventually, Draco stands, wiping down his black suit trousers and whispering a goodbye.

Draco is a few steps away from the black, creaky gate when you bustle through; bouquet in hand, sad smile on your face.

You pause in the gateway when you see Draco standing before you.

“(Y/N),” Draco greets, “I was hoping to catch you. I wanted to apologise for how I spoke to you the last time I saw you.”

“Draco, there’s nothing to apologise for. You’re mourning your wife; the last thing you need is someone invading that space.”

“All the same, I’m sorry for how I spoke to you.”

“I accept your apology, Draco.”

“Would you like to join me for a coffee? It’s been years since I saw you last, and I think it would be nice to catch up.”

You glance between the flowers in your hand and Draco waiting patiently for an answer.

“It’s okay if you don’t. I understand if you want to be with your grandfather.”

You bite your lip, glancing back to the flowers, “Do you want to come with me? All I need to is say hello and change the flowers. You don’t have to, though.”

Draco shakes his head, “No, it’s okay. I’ve had my visit today, so I don’t mind waiting with you.”

You smile at him gratefully, “Thank you; he’s just this way.”

Draco follows you as you walk the well-trodden path to your grandfather’s grave. He doesn’t let himself think as he follows, and as a result, almost bumps into you when you stop in front of a grey granite headstone.

“Hi Grandad,” You greet, “I’ve brought someone with me today, I hope you don’t mind. I’m just changing your flowers though because then we’re going to get coffee.”

You turn your attention to Draco when you finish speaking, “It’s morbid I know but it helps me process. I know he isn’t hearing me, but I can vent here and somehow I always find a solution to my problem.”

Draco nods, “I do the same with Astoria. I tell her about Scorpius and her parents though I know they visit just as much.”

You smile at the blonde-haired man before discarding the dried out flowers to one side, replacing them with the fresher, brighter flowers.

Draco watches you through the process; not missing the way your eyes dart between the headstone and to something just past it.

For a brief moment, Draco wonders if you’re being haunted too.

\-----

The coffee shop is warm compared to the brisk wind that howls outside. Draco’s body relaxes as he takes in the familiar scent of bitter coffee beans; it was a recent love of his, but now, he wouldn’t find himself going a day without a cup of the acrid liquid.

You unravel the scarf hanging around your neck before taking a seat at a corner table, “I didn’t think it would be this cold today. It makes me glad I overdressed,” you chuckle.

Draco laughs politely; his own coat now hanging on the back of his chair.

You smile, “Do you know what you want? I’ll go order.”

“Nonsense, I’ll order, I invited you here.”

“Well I won’t turn down free coffee, I’ll have a latte please.”

“I’ll be right back,” is all he says before leaving the table to order.

As the drinks are being made by the teenaged barista, Draco starts to second-guess his intentions for why he asked you for coffee in the first place. All week the conversation he had with his mother had been replaying in his mind, and then he runs into you as he’s leaving the graveyard. Before he knew it, the words were flying out of his mouth and he was unable to stop them.

He’s panicking, but he doesn’t find himself regretting asking you.

He’s only regretting his intentions as to why he asked you.

He’s been alone for three years. He has Scorpius, and his parents, but he doesn’t have anyone he can talk to on a night when the air is quiet, and the moon is high. He doesn’t have that one person that he can simply hold and know that everything will be okay.

Then and there, he lets himself admit it: he’s lonely.

Astoria had been everything for the eighteen months they had been together. He was utterly devoted to her; completely besotted by her. Draco knew that he had found the love of his life; he just didn’t expect her to be taken from him so soon.

But still he wonders.

He wonders if it’s time; he wonders whether Astoria watches him and urges him to find someone new.

To feel that rush of falling in love all over again.

The clinking of mugs rips Draco from his internal debating. He thanks the barista with a smile, picking up the tray of drinks and walking carefully back to where you wait for him.

You thank him as you pick up your latte, “You looked to be thinking pretty intensely over there.”

“You were watching me?”

Shrugging your shoulders, you say, “I got bored of the view of the café.”

Draco nods; sipping tentatively at his coffee, wincing before adding another sugar to taste.

“What were you thinking of? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I don’t mind. I was thinking of Astoria,” he admits.

You simply nod your head; understanding completely that a widow would think of his loss.

“How are you coping with her loss? It’s been a few years now, hasn’t it?”

“I could ask you the same question about your grandfather,” Draco murmurs, “We’re coping okay. Scorpius is thriving; he’s such a smart three year old and I know I’m biased but he retains information like a sponge.”

You laugh, “I was going to ask you about your son, I’m glad to hear he’s happy.”

“He doesn’t have any memories of his mother, but he knows who she is. He has a framed picture of her in his room that he says goodnight to every night.”

“He sounds precious, Draco.”

Draco nods; thinking of his dear boy, “He is. And I know she’s proud of him, I just feel it in my bones.”

“I’ll bet my last sickle that she’s proud of you too.”

Draco blinks fast; ridding the sudden tears away. “Thank you,” he whispers, taking another drink of his coffee to distract from the sudden wave of emotion.

He clears his throat once the wave has passed, “I asked you here to catch up; not for me to ruin the mood with my grief. How have you been? I haven’t seen you since the war.”

“You can talk to me about this, Draco, I don’t mind,” You state before continuing, “I’ve been well – I travelled a lot after the war. The whole realisation of life is short really hit me, so I left the country for a bit; travelled through Europe before jumping ship to America.”

Draco’s eyes widen, “That’s incredible. Where was your favourite place to travel?”

You glare at him playfully, “That’s such a hard question!”

He laughs lightly, “Still – you have to answer.”

You tap your fingers against your thigh, thinking his question over. You had loved everywhere you visited; feeling extremely fortunate to have met such a range of magical communities as well as integrate yourself within muggle society for a time.

“I think it would have to be this tiny island in Greece; it is said that in ancient times, the locals believed it was the end of the world, and if you went any further, you would fall off. I stayed there the longest; around a month where I explored the island, ate their food, and drank with the locals. It was the best time of my life.”

Draco inhales sharply at your words; not realised that he’s instinctively leaned towards you through your speech. He leans back into his chair, running a hand through his hair, “It sounds wonderful,” he whispers.

You nod; eyes glazed somewhat as you think back to your time on that heavenly island, “It really was.”

You shake yourself from your reminiscing, “What about you then, Draco? I know about the wedding, and your son, but what did you do after the war?”

Draco waves his hand in a nonchalant fashion, “Nothing as wonderful as travelling the globe though I did go to France on my honeymoon. I trained as a Healer straight from Hogwarts; I’ve been at St. Mungo’s since Scorpius was born.”

“That’s great, Draco! I always knew you would make a great Healer ever since I saw you in Potions.”

Draco ducks his head, “Thank you, I enjoy the work. Are you working now?”

You nod your head, “I work for the Daily Prophet; writing real articles and not the trollop that Rita Skeeter used to waffle on about.”

Draco barks out a laugh, surprising himself at the volume of it, “I remember her coverage of the Triwizard Tournament! It was so awful.”

You beam; eyes bright with joy, “Weren’t they? I promise I’m a much better writer… not to sound big-headed.”

“I completely believe you; I’ll have to start keeping an eye out for your articles. I haven’t read the paper in so long. I haven’t had the time if I’m honest – I get my news from my mother.”

“How are your parents? I heard about them after the war.”

“Mother coped so well. She made it her mission to entirely renovate the house, and with it, the Malfoy reputation. She donates to charities now; her focus is children orphaned during the war. Father struggled, but he’s found his purpose for life again in Scorpius. Last time I was there, he showed him his collection of matchboxes.”

You laugh lightly, “That’s brilliant. I’m glad to hear that they’re doing well.”

“How is your family? I remember your mother from Kings Cross, always running to meet you off the train.”

“She’s doing okay,” You sigh, “She struggled after my grandfather but she’s working her way back to herself.”

Draco nods in understanding; he felt nothing but pride and a sting of jealously for your mothers process with her grief. Here he was, three years later, and still reaching out to the other side of bed only to grasp at empty, cold sheets.

However, as all things must, your time together comes to an end. The coffees are drank; coats are pulled back on and goodbyes are said on the pavement.

Draco walks away from you; apparating back to his home feeling lighter than he has in years.

\------

Draco takes Scorpius to Diagon Alley on a Wednesday morning.

His son had been particularly restless the night before; a nightmare waking him. Draco does what he can to chase the monsters away before scooping up his only son and carrying him to the master bedroom. Scorpius sleeps soundly after that, but Draco remains awake – mind plaguing him with memories of Astoria but also of the coffee he shared with you.

It’s noon when Scorpius begins to pester his father for lunch. In his own words; he’s starving, and he hasn’t eaten in hours.

Draco laughs at his son. Three years old, but utterly dramatic. He kneels down so he’s eye-level, “How about we have ice cream for lunch?”

Scorpius’ face lights up and he begins to jump in his spot, “Can we go now? Please?”

Draco nods, holding out his hand for Scorpius take so he doesn’t get lost in the short distance to Florean Fortescue’s. He had lost him once; and whilst it was only two minutes before he found him, it was two minutes, he never wants to relive.

Draco lifts Scorpius so he can see the rows of flavours behind the glass. Scorpius’ eyes are wide as he checks the colour of every flavour. He even goes so far to press his face to the glass, fogging it up. Draco chuckles at his son’s antics; knowing full well he’ll pick the same flavour he’s gotten on every visit.

“Have you decided?”

Scorpius nods, “Chocolate please.”

Draco places Scorpius on the ground, “One chocolate tub, and one caramel fudge swirl tub please.”

Florean nods at the young Malfoy family with a large smile; watching them sit down at a window table before bringing their ice creams to them.

Scorpius attacks his chocolate tub with ferocity. Draco touches his son’s hand, “Slow down, squirt. You’ll get stomach ache.”

Scorpius looks as if he doesn’t believe his father’s word but not wanting to risk the chance of a stomach ache, he slows his pace. Carefully scooping the frozen treat before eating. His legs swing as he watches the scores of witches and wizards passing; they all look to be hurrying somewhere yet Scorpius doesn’t know where, but seeing all the different people, keeps his attention squarely on the window.

Draco works his way through his ice cream faster than his son; his weakness being the caramel fudge swirl that Florean makes fresh every day. He settles for drifting once his tub is empty and Scorpius is happily distracted by whatever he’s watching out of the window.

Draco begins to wonder about his son’s future – something he’s done a thousand times since his birth. He wonders about what Hogwarts house would best fit his sons personality; though he knew that the Sorting Hat would be the final word on that. But Draco can’t help but ponder over what attributes his son will demonstrate – will he ambitious enough for Slytherin? Courageous enough for Gryffindor? Loyal enough for Hufflepuff? Creative enough for Ravenclaw?

He had eight more years to ponder over it, but it’s still a question he’d like answered. However, Draco would still adore his son no matter his house.

“Draco?” Your voice sounds, breaking him out of his deliberating.

“(Y/N),” He greets.

Scorpius turns from people-watching, taking in the visitor standing at their table.

“And you must be Scorpius, it’s very nice to meet you. I’m (Y/N).”

Scorpius shies away slightly from the new person, inching back a bit in his chair.

“It’s okay, Scorpius,” Draco reassures, “I went to school with (Y/N).”

You nod, “I did! I was in Slytherin with him, and he was so smart! He still is; he’s a Healer isn’t he? Isn’t that so cool?”

Draco blushes at your compliments but it brings Scorpius out of his shell.

“My dad is the coolest! He fixes people when they are very sick.”

You nod seriously, “Yes, he does. It was very nice to meet you, Scorpius but I have to get back to work with my ice cream.”

Scorpius smiles, his teeth on show, “Goodbye!”

“It was nice to see you, Draco,” You say, smiling at the blonde-haired man.

“It was nice to see you too, even if it was so brief.”

You laugh, “Work calls I’m afraid, but I always have an ice cream, so I wasn’t going to let work stop me,” You wander back to the counter where Florean waits with your cone, “I’ll also cover Draco’s bill too, Florean.”

“You don’t have to,” Draco begins to protest.

You hold your hand up, smiling gently, “You treated me to coffee. I’ll treat you to your ice cream.”

Draco nods, wordlessly. Scorpius watches him with his eyebrows furrowed.

You take a lick of your cone, “I’ll see you soon, Draco. Have a nice day, Scorpius!”

And like that, you leave the ice cream parlour, heading back to the office where a pile of work awaits.

Draco leans back in his chair, disbelief clear on his face.

“What’s wrong, dad?”

Draco shakes his head, “Nothing, squirt.”

Scorpius shrugs, determining it adult stuff. “I like the lady who spoke to us.”

“(Y/N)?”

Scorpius nods, “She was really nice.”

“She is. She was nice when we were at school together.”

“She’s a good friend.”

“She is,” Draco murmurs once again, mind in another place entirely.

Scorpius lets his father have his moment; turning back to the window, wondering if he might get to see the nice lady named (Y/N) again.

\------

Two months pass, and January’s winter gives way to March’s spring.

The gardens at his home and at the Manor have started to bloom beautifully meaning that Draco is constantly surrounded by floral aromas that make his head spin and Scorpius sneeze.

Draco starts to see more and more of you at the graveyard. After each visit, you seem to wait for the other – always asking whether the other would like to go for a coffee; very rarely refusing the offer.

He enjoyed the time he spent with you; Draco felt like he got to make up for the lost time he was an arsehole at Hogwarts.

The more time he spent with you; the more he started to feel the urge to begin his life again. But the hauntings continue; he continues to see his wife in the mirror; hearing her voice on a night whispering to him that it’s okay to move on. But hearing those words from the mouth of the woman he promised an eternity with racks his entire body with guilt.

But it’s gotten to the point where he doesn’t want to stay away from you.

The more time you spend with Draco Malfoy; the more you can feel yourself fall for him – his smile, his eyes, his mind. You just hoped that the landing wasn’t going to be too rough.

\------

Draco drops Scorpius off at the Manor before heading to the graveyard for his usual Saturday visit. He blindly hopes to see you again after running into you at the ice cream parlour and seldom seeing you after but refuses to let himself dwell too long on the hope.

He was visiting his dead wife, after all.

He still grieves for her; still reaches for her in the middle of the night, but there are times through the day where he doesn’t feel so weighed down by grief – where he feels as if he can begin functioning fully once again.

But then that brings the guilt.

And that leads to the sightings.

And then that leads to the visits.

It’s a vicious cycle, and he’s desperate to break it.

He knows logically that Astoria would always be a part of him; he sees her every time he lays eyes on Scorpius but the small voice in the back of his head tells him often that he isn’t ready to let go yet.

And all Draco is desperate to know is: _when?_

\-----

You find him knelt before her grave. He’s silent; simply staring at her headstone, reading the words that are already seared into his mind: _Beloved Daughter, Wife, and Mother._

You place your hand on his shoulder and he jumps at the sudden contact. He relaxes once he sees it’s you, “(Y/N),” he breathes out, “I thought you were someone else.”

“I can tell,” you murmur, “Are you okay?”

He nods silently; gazing at the headstone once again, “I will be.”

“I can stay with you, if you need me.”

He shakes his head, “Go. Go see your grandfather; tell him hi from me.”

You want to laugh but nothing comes out. Draco looks at you; his blue eyes bright, “I’ll be okay,” he says gently.

The softness of his voice has you stepping away, “You know where I’ll be if you need me.”

Draco nods, hearing you walk away from him.

He’s a man made entirely of conflictions. He watches you from the corner of his eye and wonders whether he is finally ready to start his life again after Astoria; ready press play once more and see what happens but the sheer fear that runs through him, paralyses him.

He doesn’t know what to think; he doesn’t know what to do.

All he knows is that in the handful of times he has seen you, you make him want to live again.

\----

Your time with your grandfather comes to an end, and you stand from where you had knelt, murmuring a goodbye.

You can’t miss the way Draco remains in front of his wife’s grave. Standing just after you; stretching out the tight muscles in his back that had stiffened the longer he had sat there.

You sigh at the sight; mindlessly wondering if you would ever find a love that would impact you this much.

It was unintentional; it hadn’t meant to happen but the feelings you once harboured for the Slytherin Prince were returning in full force the more you saw of him.

But now, there was so much more to consider.

At Hogwarts, it was social groups that kept you from ever revealing your crush – that, and Pansy Parkinson. Now, though, Draco was a widower still very much in love with his dead wife, and he had a son that came first.

You know you need to tread carefully, but there was something addicting about the man’s presence. His way with words; his hand gestures; how he’d slip off into his own mind – it all had you caught; you were hook, line, and sinker.

You make your way back to the blonde-haired man, “What do you say to another coffee? I wish I could have stayed longer the last time I saw you, but work, you know?”

Draco nods; looking very much as if he wants to accept – the words being on the very tip of his tongue, but he sighs heavily, “I can’t today, I need to grab my son from my parents.”

“Oh,” You shake your head – of course, “Another time then! I’d like to see you again soon.”

You make to walk away but a hand reaches out and grabs your wrist, “Would you like to come with me? I need to grab Scorpius but we’re making dinner tonight and you’re welcome to join.”

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“You won’t be. Scorpius has been asking about you.”

That makes your decision for you, “Alright, I’ll join you for dinner.”

Draco smiles; letting go of his hold on your wrist, “I usually apparate to the manor, do you mind?”

You shake your head, placing a gentle hand on his outstretched arm.

Within a second, you’ve landed at the seat of Malfoy power for the last century. Draco was right you realise; Narcissa had lightened the manor up. Flowers border the main path; stemming from Hyacinths to white Lilies, to Irises. Colour lives up the home immediately, and the warm light coming from the masses of windows only makes the place more welcoming.

“I remember visiting here when I was a youngster,” You start, “I remember it being cold and uninviting… no offence, but now it feels so warm and happy.”

“That’s my mother’s influence,” Draco states; smiling wryly at the sight of all the flowers, knowing too well of the masses of Roses behind the manor.

Draco sounds the knocker three times before Narcissa pulls open the door with the smile reserved only for her son. She blinks twice before registering your presence; then she needs to do a double take.

“Afternoon, Mother,” Draco greets; leaning in to kiss her cheek which Narcissa returns distractedly – her eyes still on you.

“Draco, dear,” She greets, “And who have you brought with you?”

“Straight to the crux, aren’t we?” Draco laughs, “This is (Y/N). Surely you remember her?”

“Not Anthony’s granddaughter?”

You nod your head; ignoring the spear of grief flung through you at the sound of your grandfather’s name, “The very same,” you greet, “It’s lovely to be here. I was just mentioning to Draco how gorgeous your flowers are.”

Narcissa beams; her flowers are her pride and joy other than the son who had battled so much and came out the other side only stronger. “Thank you, my dear. Lucius and I were so saddened to hear of Anthony’s passing – tell me, how is your mother doing?”

“Better, thank you. She took his death as a blow – well, we all did but she took it the hardest being the only daughter and losing my grandmother so young.”

Narcissa nods; ushering you into the foyer of the grand manor, “We sent flowers, but we’re sorry we couldn’t make it to the service.”

A lumps forms in your throat at the mention of the service. It had been a beautiful and respectful service, but your memories of it were tied with the heart-clenching sobs of your mother as he cried about how she missed her father. It was a hard day and night for all; very few had dry eyes.

Draco notices your hesitancy at replying to his mother; notices the glazed look in your eye. He wraps his arm around Narcissa’s shoulder, distracting her from asking you any more questions, “How was Scorpius today?”

“Like always, an angel,” Narcissa coos, “Lucius has started to teach him French.”

“French? So early?” Draco asks; keeping a wary eye on you.

“Nonsense, my love. You were three when we started to teach you the basics.”

“You speak French?” You ask; mind now focused back onto the conversation. You shoot a grateful look to draco; he replies with a soft, kind smile.

Narcissa nods, “Most of our family does. Draco has spoken French fluently since he was nine years old.”

“Oui, maman,” Draco responds cheekily.

Narcissa playfully hit her son’s shoulder, “Hush you. Scorpius is with your father in the Library – shall we go grab him?”

Draco nods; desperate to see his son after hours apart, “Are you okay to follow?” he asks, throwing a glance to where you remain rooted.

You shake yourself free; banishing all thoughts of Draco and his speaking of one of the most romantic languages on the planet from your head.

You follow with a sheepish smile, “Definitely. Even I’ve heard tales of Lucius’ library.”

Narcissa chuckles, “He spends more time in there; researching and reading anything.”

“What does he research?” You ask; curiosity piqued.

“Anything – the pagan tribes of the celts at the moment. He’s focused on the history of Wiltshire at the moment; I’ve had stop him twice this week from apparating to Stonehenge and scaring the tourists.”

Draco pauses; falling into step with you as Narcissa opens the library doors, “My father needed something to do after the war; historical research turned out to be his niche.”

“It sounds like he’s having one hell of a time,” You comment; not kissing the grin that stretches across Draco’s face.

“Scorp, darling, your father is here!” Narcissa calls out after not having found her grandson where she had left him with his grandfather.

It’s hard to miss the footfalls of the toddler as he runs through the shelve stacks, crowing, “Dad! You’re back!”

Draco catches Scorpius in his arms, “Hey there, squirt. How was your day?”

“Fun. Grandpa taught me about the selts.”

“Celts, my boy,” Lucius says, appearing from behind one of the many shelves, “A hard C. Celts.”

Scorpius’ eyebrows furrows as he repeats the word again, “Celts.”

Lucius claps, “Excellent! We’ll make a historian of you yet.”

Scorpius beams at the pride rolling off Lucius in waves; he almost doesn’t notice you standing next to Draco.

“(Y/N)!”

“Hi Scorpius,” You greet.

“Why are you here?” He asks.

You laugh at his curiosity, “Your father invited me for tea, is that okay?”

The young boy nods, “We’re having pasta.”

You smile, “I like pasta.”

Scorpius nods again, and just like that, it’s settled.

Draco hitches Scorpius higher onto his hip, “He wasn’t much trouble?”

His question breaks his parents from staring at the exchange between you and Scorpius. Lucius smiles at Draco, “Scorpius is never any trouble.”

“Thank you for looking after him again.”

“It’s no bother to us. We love the boy,” Narcissa comments; blinking away what look to be like tears.

“We’ll see you soon, no doubt,” Draco says, “Say bye to granny and grandpa, squirt.”

Scorpius yells his goodbye with a large smile.

Draco holds his free arm out to you, and the three of you apparate to his home in the next village over.

Draco’s house is nowhere near the size of Malfoy Manor, but it is still large in comparison to the two bedroomed flat you rented in Diagon Alley.

It’s perfectly symmetrical you realise as Draco opens the garden gate. Two windows on either side of the pale green front door. _Always a Slytherin,_ you think as you follow Draco up the main path. He readjusts Scorpius as he reaches for his key; putting Scorpius down as he opens the door.

Scorpius reaches for your hand, “I’ll show you the kitchen,” he states, leading you through the large foyer to a room just to the right.

The kitchen is the biggest one you’ve been in. The island being home to a breakfast bar where Scorpius tries to climb up to before you cave and place him on one of the stools.

Draco follows closely behind; opening the fridge to grab the ingredients for dinner.

You hop off a stool, “What can I do to help?”

Draco pauses, “You need to sit down, I said I was cooking.”

You roll your eyes, “I want to help, so what can I do?”

“Add the pasta to the pot when the water starts to boil. I’ve already salted the water.”

You nod, rolling the sleeves up on your blouse. Draco doesn’t miss the small tattoo on your left forearm, “When did you get that?” he asks as he starts to crush and chop some garlic.

You look down to the now familiar swirling patterns below the crook of your elbow, laughing, “I got it after our Eighth Year. I snuck out to a muggle artist and got it done; mum hit the roof.”

Draco laughs, moving on to slicing the tomatoes in two. You look down at the pot of water, happy to see it boiling. You add the pasta to the pot, stirring twice before stepping away from the pan.

You sit back down at the breakfast bar; ruffling Scorpius’ hair as you do so. The blonde-haired boy giggles, “Can I see your arm?”

You glance at Draco to check that he’s okay with Scorpius seeing your tattoo. Draco nods and you hold out your arm for Scorpius to gaze at your tattoo.

He reaches out a small finger, running it over the ink gently, “Did it hurt?”

You shake your head, “Not a bit.”

“Dad has a tattoo.”

You stiffen at his words; so does Draco.

The Dark Mark that mars Draco’s arm wasn’t spoken about when it was placed on his forearm, and it wasn’t spoken about now. It has been years since the Dark Lord was vanquished by Harry Potter yet his mark upon the house of Malfoy had definitely been left.

“It’s pale but I’ve seen it.”

Draco clears his throat, saying somewhat brokenly, “Dinner is almost ready. Go clean up, squirt.”

You help Scorpius down from the stool; grinning as he rushes away to the downstairs bathroom to wash his hands before dinner.

As soon as he’s left, you turn your attention back to Draco who’s stirring the pan of pasta quietly, “I’m sorry, Draco.”

“For what?” He asks incredulously.

“For showing him my tattoo. I didn’t think he would bring up yours.”

Draco shrugs, “It’s okay. I’ve learned to live with it, and like squirt said, it’s pretty faded now.”

You nod, “I’m glad. Where do you keep your plates? I’ll grab them for you.”

“Second cupboard on from the fridge. There’s a small plastic one for Scorpius there too.”

You grab the three plates, wandering back to where Draco is adding the pasta to the sauce simmering away in the pan. Scorpius rushes back into the kitchen, taking a seat at the table by the window.

“Show us your hands, squirt. Are they clean?”

Scorpius holds his hands up, waving them at his father. Draco squints, pretending to look over his son’s hands with extra care, “Very good. Are you ready to eat?”

“Yes!” Scorpius shouts, legs kicking under the table.

Draco laughs, “Well it’s a good thing it’s ready then!”

Draco takes over yours and Scorpius’ plates first before grabbing his and the cutlery. He cuts up Scorpius’ pasta before settling in his own seat and starting to eat.

“This is so tasty,” You compliment, “One of the best meals I’ve had.”

Scorpius nods rapidly, working through his own mouthful before saying, “Dad is the best cook! You should try his pancakes!”

“Thanks, squirt,” Draco replies, smiling at him.

“I’ll have to try those pancakes one day,” You murmur, casting a side glance at the blonde-haired man sat to your left.

“I think you will,” He replies, effectively knocking the breath out of you.

Of course, you would rekindle feelings for your teenage crush when he’s now a widow and a father. You wanted to roll your eyes, but instead, you focus your gaze back to your meal.

The dinner is soon over, and the plates are cleared away to the sink where they’ll be washed after dessert.

Dessert is a slice of chocolate cake and ice cream; a treat from Narcissa. Scorpius makes as much conversation as he can; telling his father and you about the day he had at his grandparents where he learnt about the mystical celts and Stonehenge. Soon, though, his eyes start to droop and his final spoonful of cake clatters to the plate.

Draco scoops up his son; cradling in his arms as he once did those years ago. Draco murmurs an apology to you as he carries his son from the kitchen to his room, but you wave him away.

To help, you collect the plates and start running the hot water, adding dish soap as you go. You’re almost finished with the final plate when Draco returns from putting Scorpius to bed.

“You didn’t need to do that.”

You shrug, “I don’t mind – it makes me feel useful.”

“Alright. You washed, I’ll dry,” Draco bargains; grabbing the tea towel from the counter and picking up the first plate.

“Did he fall asleep okay?” You question.

Draco nods, “Out like a light, I had put his pyjamas on for him.”

You chuckle, “Bless him.”

“He really likes you,” Draco comments.

“Well, what’s not to like?” You quip, grinning, “I really like him too. He’s a credit to you, Draco.”

Draco finishes drying the final plate; putting them back in their assigned cupboard.

“Thank you. Would you like a drink, or do you need to be at work early?”

“I do, but I’d like that drink.”

Draco pulls two glasses from the display before reaching for a bottle of red wine. You already knew that you would wake up tomorrow with a headache, but it was worth it to spend more time with him.

Draco pours two glasses before handing one to you. He grabs the bottle and his glass, leading you to the living room across the foyer.

You take a seat on the maroon couch, taking a drink of wine before placing the glass on a coaster.

“Thank you for the meal. It was delicious. Where did you learn to cook like that?”

“That is all part of Narcissa Malfoy’s rearing of a good husband. She started teaching me to cook before I left for Hogwarts and would give me lessons every school holiday.”

“Well, you’re very good. I’ll be thinking of that pasta for days.”

Draco smiles at you from over the rim of his wine glass and your stomach flips.

“Why did you tell your mother that it was just dinner?” You question, referring to the incident earlier at Malfoy Manor. You take another sip of wine, watching Draco the whole time.

“Mother has it in her mind that it’s time for me to find someone new. She worries that I’ve been alone too long,” Draco drawls wryly.

“What do you think?”

Draco swishes the remaining wine in his glass; reaching for the bottle to refill.

“I don’t know,” is his answer as he tops off your glass too.

“Are you lonely?”

“You really are a journalist, aren’t you?” He teases.

You roll your eyes, smiling, “Are you though? Lonely?”

Draco locks eyes with you; the answer is on the tip of his tongue, ready to make its entrance but he’s interrupted by the cry of his son.

Wine glasses are placed hurriedly as you both rush to the young boy’s room; his cries getting louder.

The both of you fall into the room in a hurry; desperate to help Scorpius. Draco shakes his shoulders, bringing him back to reality.

“Scorpius, Scorpius – it’s okay, open your eyes.”

“Dad?” Scorpius asks; his voice a sob.

“It’s me, squirt. I’m here.”

Scorpius opens his arms for his father. Draco picks him up with no hesitation; cuddling his son to his side – drying his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt.

“It sounded like a bad one,” Draco comments.

Scorpius nods, “I don’t want to go back to sleep, I’m scared.”

Draco looks torn in two. On the one hand, Scorpius needs to sleep otherwise he’ll be as cranky as a Hungarian Horntail tomorrow. However, on the other hand, Draco won’t force Scorpius back into another nightmare by insisting he sleep.”

You step forward, perching on the end of Scorpius’ bed, “I have an idea, but you need to be all comfortable and cosy, okay?”

Scorpius nods timidly; rearranging himself against Draco’s side, cuddling his beloved teddy tighter.

“Are you cosy?”

He nods once more.

“Okay, I’ll begin: Once upon a time in a far off land there lived a king who was very lonely. He had tried for years and years to meet the love of his life, but he felt defeated for he hadn’t found the one…”

It takes over an hour – three stories and two muggle songs before Scorpius is soundly sleeping once again.

Draco shifts him with the expertise of a parent before leaving his bedroom with you in tow.

He goes to close the door, but you place a hand on his wrist, stopping him. “Leave it open two,” you start, “the light from the landing will comfort him a little if he has another nightmare.”

Draco leaves the door open a crack. Turning to you, he says, “I don’t know why I never thought of that.”

You shrug, “It’s something my mum used to do for me.”

“You were incredible in there by the way,” Draco compliments as you descend the stairs together.

“Thank you,” You murmur shyly.

“Where did you learn those stories and songs?” He asks, “I feel like I should take notes for next time,” he chuckles half-heartedly.

You laugh too, “The stories I made up years ago and the songs are muggle ones I heard on my travels. I used to babysit my younger cousins for extra pocket money – I got to be creative very quickly.”

“Well it paid off,” Draco comments, eyes flickering to the stairs.

“It certainly did,” You murmur; eyes following Draco’s.

It’s silent for a few moments; the both of you thinking of the other without the other knowing. You, terrified to tell him for the fear of rejection. Him, terrified about letting down his dead wife.

You both go to speak at the same time and promptly burst into quiet laughter.

Through the span of the conversation, you’ve gravitated towards Draco – bodies angled towards each other, hands close to touching, heads close together.

If you leaned forward an inch, your mouth would be on his.

The alcohol coursing through your veins makes the connection for you as in the next second, you’ve leant forward and attached your lips to Draco’s.

He doesn’t respond at first; too in shock by your boldness but when you’re about to pull away, he wraps a hand in your hair, keeping your mouth pressed to his. Lips glide together seamlessly. He bites down on your lower lip, making you gasp. He deepens the kiss then; shifting on the couch to press you further into it.

Your hand make their way into his hair, and Draco groans against your mouth at the feel.

But it’s all too much and you need to pull away.

Chest heaving, you drag your mouth away from Draco’s. He nuzzles his nose into your cheek, pressing little kisses across your jawline to your ear before sitting back up.

“I didn’t expect that,” You gasp.

“Neither did I, but I’m not mad about it.”

“You aren’t? I did just jump you.”

Draco laughs, “It would have happened sooner or later.”

“Really?” You ask; a note of happiness unmistakable in your voice.

Draco nods, running his thumb across your lips, relishing in the fact that they’re swollen because of him.

The wine has gone to your head, and you feel your eyes begin to droop before the first yawn hits. You sigh, pulling away from Draco’s distracting touch, “I think I better head off.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to leave.”

“Why, do you want me to stay, Draco?” You tease.

He nods, “I can’t offer much, but this couch is really comfy.”

“And where will you be sleeping?” You ask; the wine making you more brash.

Draco blushes. You take back your words, “I’m sorry, Draco. Red wine goes straight to my head.”

“Don’t be, it’s okay.”

“No, it isn’t. I just propositioned you and all we’ve done is kiss,” You groan, dropping your head into your hands.

Draco pulls your hands away from your face, “(Y/N), it’s fine, really. The blanket on the back of the couch is really warm; grab it will you?”

You feel your face heat as you reach for the large grey blanket draped over the back of the couch. Draco stands momentarily to toe off his shoes before settling back down on the couch. You slip off your own shoes before clambering onto the couch next to him.

This was all so intimate.

Draco throws the large blanket over you both. Once suitably covered, his arm slips around your waist and your hand rests on his chest.

Neither of you say anything. No words need to be spoken now; everything expressed through actions alone.

With a kiss to the top of your head, Draco falls asleep unafraid of what he’ll meet in the morning.

\--------

It’s the sunlight that wakes you. Bright light warming your face; you flutter your eyes open to find you face to face with Draco’s chest. Neither of you had moved in night; if anything, becoming closer together. At some point, his legs had tangled with yours and your hand had gripped his shirt so tight, it came away wrinkled when you loosened your grip.

You sigh happily; then you glance at the clock on the mantle piece where the hands make it abundantly clear that you were going to be late for work.

Extracting yourself carefully from Draco’s hold, you pick up your shoes from the floor. You search quickly for a spare piece of paper and a pen; scrawling a note for Draco to read when he wakes.

With one last look at the man you had fallen for in such a short amount of time, you apparated away.

\-----

Draco wakes not long after you leave; feeling oddly light without the weight of your body pressed up against him. He frowns when he realises that you’ve left without a goodbye but with a glance at the clock, he doesn’t have much time to worry about it.

Scorpius would be awake any minute and demanding breakfast.

Draco sits up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. It had been so long since he had slept with someone by his side; wrapped around him the way you were, and he was happy to admit, he had missed the feeling of another human pressed so tightly against him, he could feel every contour in their body.

He almost falls off the couch when he notices your note lying on the table. He grabs it with shaking hands:

_“Had to go to work – meet me for lunch if you can? Thank you for last night. You still owe me pancakes – (Y/N).”_

He feels like a teenager again experiencing the rush of his first crush. He runs a hand across his face; standing up to get a start on breakfast. He folds your note in two before sliding it into his wallet for safekeeping.

It’s then that Draco realises he has two things he needs to do.

\-----

Draco drops Scorpius off at Astoria’s parents for the morning. Apologising to his son for bailing on their plans of the park and the library; Scorpius simply pats his father’s face in goodbye before running to his grandma and grandad Greengrass.

Draco waves at his in-laws before apparating to see their daughter.

\-----

The graveyard looks entirely different, but Draco knows nothing has changed. What has changed is him, and he need to tell Astoria.

Kneeling in his usual place in front of her grave, Draco releases a shaky breath.

“Hi darling, I know I’m early for our visit, but I have something important to discuss with you,” He looks down at his hands before continuing, “I think I’ve met someone, and I really want to pursue it. I want to see where it goes.

“You have to understand, darling, I never thought I would love again after you. I really didn’t and for three years, I’ve been an island with just enough room for Scorpius. I didn’t expect it, but it happened, and I like the way (Y/N) makes me feel. I feel excited again; my hands are shaking from the very thought.

“Scorpius likes her by the way, and she likes him, but they both know they won’t ever fill the role that you were supposed to. And I think they’re both happy with that knowledge.

“I’m not asking for your permission, but I am asking for your forgiveness. For not loving you harder; for not taking more time to be with you; for not apologising immediately after every argument. But I’m ready to start living again and I’ve found someone that makes me want to live again; that incites that spark of life within me, and I desperately want to see where it goes. 

“I haven’t seen you in a while; around the house. I think you realised what was happening before I did and finally made your peace with it. I can’t ever forget you and our time. I see whenever I look at our little boy, but I’m ready to begin again, and so I shall.”

Draco stands from the grave feeling as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He had to speak to Astoria before he could speak to you; he had tell her his choice but to reassure that he would always love her, but his heart was ready to make room for another person.

And that person was you.

With one last glance at the marble headstone, Draco apparates to Diagon Alley.

\----------

The offices to the Daily Prophet newspaper lie in a side street just off the high street. He signs in at reception but asks the receptionist not to alert you of his presence. The receptionist flushes when she realises that she’s now part of a romantic plot. Draco smiles at her gratefully as he makes his way to the main lift, asking for your floor.

He taps his foot the entire ride up to your floor, annoying every single person in the lift with him. But he can’t help it; he’s both excited and nervous.

In a few moments, he’s changing the direction of his life forever, and he couldn’t feel more ready to start.

The door opens on your floor and Draco rushes out, followed by the happy sighs of those journeying to higher floors. He wants to laugh at their reactions, but the butterflies rioting in his stomach make him feel as if he could vomit right on the muddy brown carpet.

It’s not hard to find which desk is yours by the amount of trinkets on there. Files are precariously high in one section, and then the rest of the desk bar the cream typewriter is covered by snow globes and tiny figurines of landmarks from your travels. From this first look at your desk, Draco already has a sense of what your flat will look like.

You gasp when you see Draco standing in the door to your office, “Draco, you’re early for lunch.”

Draco walks up to your desk; his hands shaking through it all, “Let me make you pancakes.”

“What?” You ask, breathless.

“Let me make you pancakes,” He repeats, “I want to make you pancakes in the morning.”

“Really?” You sniffle; tears collecting.

Draco nods, “I’m still grieving, but I always will be. However, that doesn’t mean my life needs to come to an end and I realised that I want it to continue with you by my side so… let me make you pancakes every morning.”

Tears have started to fall down your face and you sniffle before speaking, “Okay. You can make me pancakes.”

Draco beams; eyes crinkling. He leans in close to you, whispering, “Do you think you can get off early?”

You grab your bag before he finishes his sentence, “Let’s get out of here.”

Draco holds his hand out for you to take. At the feel of your skin against his, a jolt of electricity runs between you. It takes everything in him not to drag you into a kiss in the foyer of the building.

He waits until he’s in the street.

Like a gentleman.

He waits until the coast is somewhat clear before pulling you into his side and drawing your mouth to his like you did last night. Your arms wrap around his neck, bringing him closer to you.

It’s not your first kiss, and it won’t be your last, but this one kiss means the world to the both of you.

Through it all, you’ve learnt to swim.

\-------

**A year later** :

Scorpius is almost five years old when he visits his mother’s grave for the first time in his life. He had been less than three weeks old when she was buried in the Greengrass plot

Scorpius watches as his father kneels before her first; apologising for his absence and asking for her forgiveness.

But then he looks to Scorpius; where he stands with his hand holding onto yours tightly.

Draco beckons to Scorpius with an open hand. Scorpius staggers to his father’s side immediately.

“Hi Mum,” he whispers.

Draco’s hand is firm on his son’s shoulders; a comforting presence.

“I miss you,” he starts, “I know I never got to know you, but I miss you. I have your picture in my room, so I know what you look like, and Wellesley. I’m starting school soon; a small magic school with kids like me and I’m really excited. Dad’s doing well. He was sad for a while but he’s happier now and he talks about you more with (Y/N) who I like too. I want to come back more, and I think Dad will let me now, so I’ll see you soon, Mum.”

And with that, Scorpius walks away, happy to have finally met the mother had wanted to meet for so long.

Draco watches his son potter back to the still creaky gate in awe. You join his side; fingers tangling in his. “How are you feeling?” You ask, watching Draco’s face.

“Happy and in love,” is Draco’s reply.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading!
> 
> Tumblr: @iliveiloveiwrite


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